With Regards From MI6
by randiwritesthings
Summary: -The Sequel to From 221B With Love!- Post season 3 continuation of From 221B! Moran isn't finished with Q? What really was in Sherlock's apartment? Hannibal references? M and Mycroft? Who even knows? I don't even know.
1. Prelude

"This is ridiculous." Lady Smallwood was looking over the file, lips pursed in dismay.

"It was the best option we had at the time." Mycroft stated, somewhat embarrassed that this was still being discussed.

"You hid it in his apartment? Without his knowledge?" There was a hint of outrage in her voice.

"And they still didn't find it." Mycroft twirled his umbrella disinterestedly, wishing himself to be anywhere but here.

"Look, with an indefinite amount of time until the East Wind, we've got to get as much sensitive information under lock-down as possible. He already knows something, seeing as he's back, but we must do what we can." She closed the file.

"I understand."

"Oh, one last thing, how was your date?"

Mycroft did not reply.


	2. Chapter 1: Certainty

"So we're just supposed to wait?" John started, closing the door to the flat, blissfully empty of criminals.

"For now, yes." Sherlock had tossed his coat over the sofa and was already pacing.

"That makes no sense." John settled into his chair.

"He could be giving us time to regroup, to think, to-"

"Sherlock, something is wrong." Sherlock knew the tone that John was using. It was the "shut up and listen" tone. It was as close to being scared as John ever admitted.

"I know." Sherlock paused his pacing.

"Why did you never tell me you had another brother?" John had waited so long to ask this question, one of the many that had sat in his head waiting for Sherlock to come back. But between Sherlock's fake death, his own engagement and marriage, Sherlock's return, and the collapse of his proposed normal life, it had been put on the back burner.

"Why are you asking me this now?"

"Don't change the subject."

"It never mattered I suppose."

There was a silence. Even after years of thinking about it, John was never used to Sherlock's lack of emotion in terms of family and things that most people would consider important. And maybe it was the suburban lifestyle in which he had tried so hard to survive kicking in, but he felt some remnant of horror at the blatant disregard.

Things had changed a lot over the few short years since Sherlock's disappearance and return. The scars that littered Sherlock's arms had not gone un-noticed by John and the extra pounds and signs of depression had not gone un-noticed by Sherlock. And neither of them could really talk about it.

"Do you know where he is now?" John asked.

"Still working for Mycroft. But who isn't?" Sherlock sat down across from John, legs crossed, hands folded.

"Did he know then?"

"About what?"

"You being alive?"

"No.

"Does he know your back?"

"Just about everyone does, John. I haven't exactly been keeping a low profile."

John still didn't really know exactly what had happened in the brief day he'd worked with Q and James. Mycroft had hidden something top secret in 221B but it's exact contents were never released. And why Sherlock's apartment? Who were they trying to hide it from exactly? Sherlock wasn't the best person with which to hide things. There were lots of people in and out of the apartment, although none of them would get away with going through things ever.

John's thoughts were interrupted when Sherlock's phone went off.

Sherlock glanced at it quickly and jumped up.

"Duty calls." Sherlock deadpanned, and headed for the door. John followed, hoping that things might get back to how they used to.

"You really didn't know?" Molly asked.

"Not until about two months in, but I always had a feeling." Q shrugged.

"That's terrible."

"That's how it is when your two brothers are always trying to be clever." He replied in what would have been a bitter tone were it not for the smirk.

Q and Molly were sitting in the room just outside morgue. They weren't exactly dating. Not yet anyway. Molly liked that there was a Holmes that wasn't insane, and Q liked that she thought his brothers were insane, rather than the usual awestruck wonder.

"How did you find out?"

"I went looking."

"Took a while by your standards."

"I was in Minnesota for a solid couple of months." Q took a sip of tea.

"Oh yeah." Molly knew vaguely that a long closed case had opened up again, and that it was very secret, and that was about it.

"I can't do the multiple cases thing like Sherlock. I have to focus on one thing and get it done quickly. I didn't really have time to investigate further while I was there. But I always knew something was not quite right. Sherlock may be a mess, but he's not suicidal."

"Well, and then there was Moriarty." Molly said casually, as if accidentally dating one of the most dangerous men ever barely phased her.

"Well, you would know." He nudged her shoulder. She gave a smile in return, but seemed rather distracted.

"What's wrong?" He asked.

"They say he's back." Molly stared at her feet.

"There's not much we can do about that."

"I know, it's just..."

"What?"

"If Moriarty's back, than who's to say if Silva is dead?" Molly bit her lip, studying Q's face for any sign that she was right.

"I really do doubt it. And Moran is in custody so we won't have to worry about him."

"I worry all the time." Molly pulled on her gloves.

"You shouldn't."

"I know."

Their eyes met. Q looked away first, set the tea down, and gathered his things.

"See you tomorrow?" He asked, heading for the door.

"Mm-hmm." And she headed towards the morgue. Molly's job, however gruesome, was almost a sanctuary of certainty, because unlike everybody else, these people stayed dead.


End file.
